


White Nights

by sprosslee



Series: Yurimil [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Blood, Kissing, M/M, Yuri and Emil are in their thirties, barfight, cute smut, handjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-04-20 02:04:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14250729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sprosslee/pseuds/sprosslee
Summary: By ducking behind a table, Emil evades a flying bottle of Absolut Vodka. It crashes behind him, colliding with the wall; a woman screams. He ignores her and peeks over the table just to see Yuri raise his fists once more. “Bring it on, asshole!” he shouts at the brawny giant right in front of him, spitting on the floor at his feet.***Emil only wished for a night of drinking and quality time with his husband. Yuri, however, has other plans - he starts a bar fight instead.





	White Nights

Even when his face is painted in red, his hair is tousled and his Dior shirt is ripped, Yuri is as stunning as if he just stepped out of the set of a 10,000 Euro photoshoot. Only that the red paint is his own blood and his face is a complete mess, all snarls and cuts and furrows that are deeper than the Macocha Gorge. The leather jacket and tight black skinny jeans he chose for the occasion give him a youthful aura.

Emil can only stare at him in awe. _He is still so goddamn beautiful._ Even in such a dangerous situation Yuri manages to look like a work of art. It’s ridiculous.

By ducking behind a table, Emil evades a flying bottle of Absolut Vodka. It crashes behind him, colliding with the wall; a woman screams. He ignores her and peeks over the table just to see Yuri raise his fists once more. “Bring it on, asshole!” he shouts at the brawny giant right in front of him, spitting on the floor at his feet.

In any other situation, Emil would be shocked, especially if Nikolina was present to see all this. This sort of behaviour is intolerable for a man in his thirties, a father especially. Emil would normally scold Yuri for something like this, but their daughter is with Viktor and Yuuri for the night. A night that was supposed to be quality time for Yuri and Emil.

Date night, however, is already ruined. The bar is wrecked, there are shards of broken glass and busted barstool legs, and shattered plates and crushed fries everywhere. Half the patrons have already fled, the other half are either brawling themselves or rooting for the ones fighting. _Welcome to St. Petersburg._

Two shady guys in Adidas tracksuits are taking bets. As far as Emil can tell from his hideout, Yuri’s stakes are pretty low.

But that’s only because no one in here knows him like Emil knows him.

“Come here and I’ll crush you.” The guy cackles a gargling laugh and gestures Yuri to come nearer. His nose looks terrible—it appears Yuri broke it in two places with one well-landed punch.

After retiring, Yuri had started to take mixed martial arts lessons when he read that there was a child molester living just a few streets away from their flat. _I need to be able to protect Nikolina. If that asshole ever lays a finger on her I’m gonna break them. One after another. And very slowly._ Even now, Yuri’s fuse is still very short. He’s not as quick to anger as he was when he was younger, but he’s, by no means, laid-back and relaxed. _Especially_ not when someone says…

Well, what exactly is the reason for this bar fight? Honestly, Emil has no idea. He doubts even Yuri knows at this point. Maybe the guy shot Yuri the wrong look, maybe it was a word he said, maybe it was none of those things. Emil might never find out—when he had come back from the toilets, Yuri had already landed his first blow.

Not that the reason matters at all; by now it’s all about the adrenaline and the ecstasy that comes with it. One look into Yuri’s face is enough to tell him that much.

To shove back his sweaty bangs, Yuri rubs the backside of his hand across his face. It leaves an ugly smear of blood on his cheek, like some hastily put on war paint. This is not a staged mixed martial art fight, but he’s grinning from ear to ear.

All the people in the bar collectively hold their breath when the giant roars; he raises his fists and charges at Yuri. Emil’s heart flutters like a bird behind his ribcage. He forces himself to watch.

Yuri retired years ago, but is still quick on his feet. He’s only toying with this gargantuan man, who could probably snap his neck were he ever to catch him. Gracefully, Yuri evades the first blow, whirrs around his opponent and scissor kicks him in the ass. The giant falls to his knees and groans. The crowd in the half-circle around them roars. The makeshift betting office attracts new customers. Yuri slowly walks behind him, still smiling. He corrects his posture once more and takes a deep breath.

 _The hell, no._ Emil jumps out from behind the table. He dashes towards Yuri, grabs the sleeve of his leather jacket and pulls him away before he can finish off the giant with his trademark roundhouse kick. “Yuri, stop it,” he hisses. “The cops will be here soon.”

“This is _Russia_ , idiot,” Yuri snarls, as if this explains everything. Emil’s plea still seems to seep into his brain, even though Yuri is completely drunk on adrenaline—if Emil can trust his judgement and Yuri’s dilated pupils.

“I’ll let you off this time,” he proclaims. The men and women in the crowd start booing. Emil tightens his grip.

For once, Yuri doesn’t give in to his competitive side. He just clicks his tongue and gives his audience the finger. “Fuck you, and you, and you.” 

When he’s finished with his little show, he catches Emil’s hand. Blood is seeping from his knuckles. “Let’s go.”

The June dawn is mild when they stumble out of the door and the sky is already brightening, streaked with fiery wisps of clouds. It has rained in the meantime; the air is fresh and clean. Emil wishes he has more time to take in the miracle that is a St. Petersburg White Night, but they have to get moving. Even if Yuri seems to think that the police won’t come, he doesn’t believe a word of it. In the Czech Republic they would already be here. Yuri would be arrested for sure, no matter what crazy reason he had to beat up that guy inside. “Let’s go home. Get you patched up.”

Yuri lets go of Emil’s hand to cross his arms in front of his chest. “I was not finished,” he mumbles, his cheeks flushed.

“Wait… What?”

“You heard me. I could have finished this guy. You took that away from me.”

Emil raises an eyebrow and snorts. “Are you serious? You two trashed the whole bar, you’re injured, you-”

“I demand you pay me back,” Yuri growls, his face distorted in discomfort. His skinny jeans must be awfully tight, after all.

And finally, Emil understands, all of it. This is a game, and the outcome was clear as soon as Yuri started the fight. “Not here,” he says, his cock twitching in his jeans. Police sirens are wailing just a few streets away. They must move now, find a quiet place, without people—or maybe just a few. His Yuri _always_ loves an audience after all.

“Come,” Emil says and takes Yuri’s hand again, dragging him away from the entrance to the bar, away from three shady-looking guys who are having a hushed discussion with the bouncer and shooting them dirty looks. Yuri hobbles after him, letting out stifled moans and squeezing Emil’s fingers.

“Here.” Yuri drags Emil into a shady back alley, only two streets away. There are two dumpsters for glass creating an opening between them that will most likely prevent them being seen from the streets. If the cops come searching for them, they’re fucked, but honestly, a look from Yuri’s eyes is enough to make Emil forget about them.

“Blow me,” Yuri demands and tries to press Emil down onto the ground, his other hand already on his belt buckle.

Emil stiffens. Yuri lets out a frustrated groan, biting his bottom lip with the snakebites.

As far as Emil can tell, Yuri won’t last long, so a quick blowjob would be best to finish him off. It’s a seductive idea, tenderly teasing the tip, tasting Yuri’s precum and swallowing his load later. Yuri’s hands would claw into his hair and guide him, leaving a burning sensation on his scalp. Oh, the thought alone is pure agony.

But Emil can’t kneel on hard surfaces for a long time since last year, when he suffered from cruciate rupture after a downhill skiing event in the Tyrol. Not that he doesn’t love the feeling of Yuri’s dick in his mouth, but he prefers the whole experience on a soft mattress or with a pillow between the ground and his knee.

“Turn around,” he says.

Yuri obeys for once, doing as Emil says, still messing with his belt buckle. With trembling fingers, he tries to push his pants down. “Fuck,” he hisses when his cock is greeted by the chill air.

Emil helps him drag down his jeans because he’s a Good Samaritan. He strokes Yuri’s calves, the soft skin inside of Yuri’s slightly spread legs, his cheeks. It’s a shame that there’s so much lube back in the Kempinski and not here.  

The lights of the police cars are reflected in the puddles to their feet. Just a few metres away he can hear a couple chatting in Russian, partygoers maybe. “Be quiet,” Emil whispers.

Yuri bites on his hand when Emil spreads his cheeks and kneads them, just to make sure they’re still as firm and perfect as ever. Then he spits on his hand twice, watches as the dried blood liquefies again and grabs Yuri’s leaking cock without any further ado.

A little whine escapes Yuri’s throat when Emil starts jerking him off. Was Emil still younger, he would have lost his patience by now, but he’ll demand his turn later, when Yuri is satisfied and calm and more open to anything Emil proposes.

Yuri’s naked butt presses against the bulge in Emil’s jeans and Emil can’t help but rut against it, just a bit, just to make Yuri feel how much he likes this. He bites Yuri’s neck to stop himself from moaning, licking the soft flesh underneath, and increases his speed.

Yuri flinches and with a muffled moan, he shoots onto the brick wall in front of him. Emil holds him tight and guides him through the aftermath of his orgasm, then lets go of his softening dick. His fingers are wet with his own spit and Yuri’s cum and blood. He wipes everything onto his shirt without a second thought—after this night he’ll have to burn his clothes for sure anyway. No way the several bodily fluids and the beer stains will ever come out.

Yuri turns around in his arms and hides his face in the crook of Emil’s neck, still panting, forehead sweaty. Without looking at Emil, he drags up his briefs and jeans. The belt buckle clinks when he closes it.

"We should do this more often. Maybe next time you won't need to beat up a guy. If you want me to jerk you off in some shady back alley. All you gotta do is ask—bar brawls aren't necessary," Emil says. He raises Yuri’s chin with his right hand to make Yuri look at him; his left hand is still on Yuri’s hips, steadying him. His own hard-on aches in his pants. Later in their hotel room, Emil will make Yuri pay him back.

"Shut up, you.” Yuri’s face is still flushed, his brows furrowed. His fingers are on the collar of Emil’s shirt, grabbing it as if he wanted to throw him across the alley.

Emil threads his fingers through Yuri's soft hair. There are grey strands in it that glitter in the morning light like spun silver. Yuri might kill him right there on the spot if Emil comments on how handsome it looks, so Emil keeps quiet for now and presses a smacking kiss on Yuri's temple that makes Yuri whine in protest.

"With each passing year, I love you more," Emil whispers into Yuri’s scarlet ear and licks at the pierced earlobe for just a second, because he can and because mocking Yuri, who's never managed to say _I love you too_ back in all these years, is hilarious.

As always, Yuri squirms and grumbles something mildly offensive before half-heartedly trying to shove Emil away and failing miserably.

Yuri should know better by now. One could also think that Yuri should have outgrown his behaviour in all those years, but some things never change. Emil can’t help but grin. He puts his arm around Yuri’s neck and draws him closer. "Let's go home."

"You stink of booze,” Yuri growls, then leans in for a quick kiss, lips closed, a faint smile blooming against Emil’s lips, his snakebite piercings warm. Emil is so going to tease him about it later, but for now he just enjoys this short moment of intimacy.

They start walking in silence, fingers interlocked, only a few centimetres of space between them. The rays of the rising sun show them the way through the deserted alleys.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written for the  Live and Love YOI bang . The prompts for the second mini-bang (or bing) I, my artist [greygerbil](https://archiveofourown.org/users/greygerbil/profile%0A) and my beta [Squeezebabe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SqueezeBabe/profile%0A) chose to work with were ‘clinch’ and ‘action’—and we also decided to work in some smut, because why not. My bing team members are awesome, go read their fics!  Greygerbil also has a tumblr where you can see her art and give her some love for the perfect pic she created for this fic!
> 
> Most of my stories are teamwork, and this one is no exception. Apart from my Bing-Team there are so many other people to thank for concrit, cheerleading and proofreading: Adrianna99, parallelanprincess, TheLoyalMouse, Pandamillo and izzyisozaki. Your additions made this fic so much better. You all rock!
> 
> By the way: In case you are curious how Emil and Yuri ended up together, stay tuned. There will be a longfic with this pairing for the Bang in September <3


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